


Ghost of Masyaf

by babbling_brook



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Apple of Eden (Assassin's Creed), Assassin's Creed II, Assassin's Creed: Revelations, Canon Compliant, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Masyaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbling_brook/pseuds/babbling_brook
Summary: Ezio Auditore da Firenze visits a place from another life before he returns to Italia. It seems he has company.
Relationships: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Maria Thorpe (mentioned), Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Sofia Sartor
Kudos: 43





	Ghost of Masyaf

Along the pebbled trail, footsteps disrupted the placement of rocks gathered to form a forgotten road, buried beneath the sands of time and vines of infinity. Soil gobbled up each footstep to leave no signs behind of those who entered the crumbled lands. Two figures wandered down this hidden path as the first in centuries to find their way to a once mystical world shrouded in crumbling stone structures and overgrown flora.

It had not been long since the aged Assassin had first found the ruined Masyaf, yet it felt as though a century had passed since his first encounter with the barren land. Identity concealed in long, gray robes, blending into the bleak sky and drab scenery, Ezio Auditore raised his head to view Masyaf once again. The castle remained an intimidating wonder, though it was clear that the once majestic castle had eroded into the wasteland. Perhaps that is what centuries of abandonment do to such a place. As he strolled along the path to the lost village lingering in the shadow of the castle, Ezio attempted to recall the beautiful mystery Masyaf had once been. The once rolling, green mountainside was replaced by a blanket of dull snow. Where people had lived, trained, fought, and died for the Brotherhood had long since disappeared, wood weathered from hundreds of rainy seasons and banners decayed from harsh winds. Nothing but weeds and only a handful of peasants remained in what had once been home to hundreds, if not thousands of people.

“This is where your order began?” A soft, curious voice returned Ezio to the world in front of him. He turned his head to look down at the woman beside him. Her fiery red hair and emerald green dress contrasted greatly with the drab landscape around them. She was so inquisitive, insightful, incredible... Ezio wished she had not been forced into a war she had known nothing about. Yet, his affections towards the younger woman had drawn the attention of his enemies, costing the lives of Assassins dear to him in Constantinople. Sofia knew now of the ancient war of Assassins and Templars, how her help in finding timeworn novels had been more than restoring knowledge to the world, and of the importance of the library they were now nearing. She was a remarkable woman. If only Ezio’s sister could see how this woman had made an old man’s heart flutter, Claudia would never let him hear the end of it. A nudge to his armored side forced Ezio to respond with more than a deep chuckle.

“It began thousands of years ago,” Ezio explained, the two weaving through alleys and piles of crates in the village, “but here it was reborn.”

“By the man you mentioned, Altaïr?”

Opening his mouth to respond, Ezio paused momentarily. His sharp nose pointed upwards as a white feather cascaded down from the sky, a faint screech from an eagle still ringing in the air. Ezio held his hand out for the feather to fall into, turning his head in the direction of the wind. From the corner of his eyes, he watched as a ghostly shimmer leapt down from the flat roof of one of the abandoned, sandstone houses, walking towards the castle only to disappear before his feet could reach the ground. Ezio recognized this shadowed ghost, wandering the terrain of Masyaf. Not so long ago, Ezio had been entranced by the spirit, causing him to be captured by Templar soldiers. The same spirit guided him from death and towards the edge of Masyaf. A soul confined to the castle grounds of the worn Assassin headquarters.

“Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad,” Ezio whispered. The name of a legend, a man admired by the Assassin Brotherhood centuries after his death. When Ezio had been young - though it was hard to remember such a time when he was - he had thought of Altaïr and his Codex as an old man’s fantasy, his uncle having constantly insisted to Ezio the importance of the excerpts from the Assassin’s diary. As a matured Assassin, he had viewed Altaïr as a legend and god, his statue towering over Ezio in the sanctuary of Monteriggioni. Now, having seen merely a handful of Altaïr’s memories through the lost keys held in his robes and reading Niccolo Polo’s accounts of Altaïr’s life, Ezio knew what Altaïr was: human. 

Altaïr was a man who had been so arrogant that he compromised the Brotherhood, his only way at redemption being stripped of all ranks and to work from the bottom up. He was a man who had trusted his mentor, only to be betrayed by the wise Al Mualim, who was enticed by a glowing orb. He was a man who sought to heal the Brotherhood alongside his right-hand Assassin. Altaïr was a man who loved his wife and the children they bore. He was a man who fell into decades of despair with the loss of his closest friends, his wife, and his youngest son. He was a man who returned and helped heal the Brotherhood once more from the tyranny of an old rival. He was a man who sought to learn from the Ones Who Came Before and the Apple of Eden left to humans, though it cost him so much. Ezio found Altaïr to be a man, no different from any other, flawed and human. He was a man turned legend turned god, with no choice in such a matter.

“Ezio, we must hurry,” reminded Sofia. She had continued walking while Ezio had been frozen to the ground. He hurried to her side, to which she asked her question once more.

“Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad. He built us up, and set us free.” As Ezio spoke, he once again saw the ghostly shimmer of Altaïr, this time standing over the castle gates as Ezio and Sofia treaded up the steep climb to the castle. The ghost seemed to gaze down at Ezio, hidden eyes beckoning him towards the castle. Ezio blinked, only to find two more figures beside Altaïr. The aged Assassin recognized both. A golden shimmer of Malik Al-Sayf and Maria Thorpe casted their gazes down at Ezio. The aged man squinted. These figures were not ghosts, not in the same way as the spirit in the middle. Illusions, perhaps? Illusions in his own mind... or someone else’s? Ezio looked away to view over the castle. In his nearly thirty-five years as an Assassin, he had never seen such a grand structure created as a hideout. It simply was not practical, though the Assassins of the past did not seem to see this, other than Altaïr. “He saw the folly of keeping a castle like this,” he mused with a low chortle. “It had become a symbol of arrogance, and a beacon for all our enemies.”

Sofia hummed. “And the mandate for menacing hoods? Was that his idea as well?” The Venetian woman’s joke warranted a small laugh from Ezio. Truthfully, he had no idea where that tradition had come from, though he knew it was not Altaïr’s doing. No, even the great Altaïr had been forced to conceal his features behind a white hood, resemblant of an eagle’s head. Ezio did not recall a single memory or account of Altaïr lowering his hood. Even now, as another apparition of the man appeared on the edge of the main structure of the castle, preparing to make a leap of faith, the hood remained over his head.

Ezio and Sofia finally reached the interior of the castle, ancient banners of the Levantine Brotherhood swinging silently in the snowy breeze that carried into the castle, hanging above their heads. As he spoke to Sofia of the Creed, how it acted as an observation of reality and his own interpretation of the Creed, Ezio spotted the ghostly white and shimmering gold of two apparitions, floating towards the courtyard. Altaïr and Maria walking together one final time; Ezio knew that memory. He had seen it before in one of the Masyaf keys. His eyes were trained on how the apparition of Maria flickered, as though it were a projection rather than a ghost. A projection… Ezio’s mind wandered to his fight with Rodrigo Borgia, how the Apple in his hand had created such incredible illusions, such as a woman speaking to someone named “Desmond” through him, completely eluding his understanding. Was something similar happening here?

At last the two Italians arrived at the sealed door of Altaïr’s library. With the keys he had collected, Ezio solved the code of the door, creating an eagle constellation on the door. How fitting. The door slid up slowly, rocks tumbling down and dust falling off of the door and walls. Ezio entered alone, Sofia assuring him she would be waiting for him when he returned. What he would find, Ezio did not know.

Ezio stepped cautiously down the stone stairs, lighting cob-webbed torches in order to find his way to whatever knowledge laid in Altaïr’s library. In the center of the library, bookshelves lay surprisingly empty. There was nothing. Nothing but dust, cobwebs, and a chair facing Ezio. For three decades, Ezio had devoted himself to the Assassin Brotherhood, having become Mentor only a decade prior. Altaïr had been born into the Order and died a part of it, ninety-two years of wisdom and Assassin training all in one man. Like Ezio, he had no choice in his fate.  _ How can I regret the only life I’ve ever known? _ Altaïr had spoken in the first memory Ezio saw. As he approached a hump of dust and cobwebs resting in a chair, Ezio could only wonder if Altaïr, like himself, ever wondered how fate could have led them to such a moment. 

His breath hitched as his eyes landed on a skeleton clutching a circular key, situated in the chair, white robes darkened by dust.

“No books,” Ezio murmured as he walked towards Altaïr’s bones, “no wisdom. Just you,  _ fratello mio _ .” 

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Two Assassins, centuries apart, legacies intertwined by a force far more knowledgeable than either of them could ever be, found themselves face to face. Ezio knelt before Altaïr, Mentor before Mentor. He lowered his head. With fifty-plus years of his life tucked under his belt, Ezio was speechless. What could he possibly say to the man before him, who had done so much for the Brotherhood? What could he say to the man who, at the age of twenty-six, became the Mentor of an entire order for decades to come, who had gone and seen so much, who knew the Apple of Eden’s contents second only to the Ones Who Came Before? Lips sealed shut, Ezio sighed. His breath froze in the stuffy library. Silence threatened to suffocate him.

The aged Assassin thought to himself. Altaïr was the only body present in the room. All alone, Altaïr had met his seemingly peaceful end. Yet, it seemed he lingered among the castle grounds, aiding an experienced Assassin like Ezio every step of the way in his life, whether through Codex pages or ghostly visions. With all the men Altaïr had put to rest, who had put  _ him _ to his deep sleep?

Ezio looked up at the skeletal face. Raising his hand, three soft words echoed in the room. “ _ Requiescat in pace. _ ”

The room felt warmer as Ezio spoke his signature words. He reached for the key in Altaïr’s hand to view his last memory. Ezio watched from the perspective of Altaïr as he said his goodbyes to his oldest son, Darim, and closed himself off from the rest of the world. Whispers of Al Mualim, Maria and Darim haunted the Levantine Assassin as he hid the Apple of Eden away in a hidden vault, never to be found again until the time was right, though he knew not when. With a heavy heart, Ezio saw how Altaïr met his lonesome end, sitting down to rest in the chair only to never stand up again. As the memory faded out, gold shimmering fading away, Ezio stood and walked to the wall behind the skeleton. As he opened the vault, golden shimmering lit up the room.

The Apple of Eden enticed Ezio from its pedestal, whispers of the past, present and future echoing in his ears. His hand reached out to grasp the Apple. Ezio hesitated.

“No,” he decided. “You will stay here.” He looked down to his arm bracers. Hidden blades covered his forearms. Some sort of hidden blade had remained on his arm for nearly forty years, ever since his father and brothers had been killed that fateful day in Florence, pushing him into the life he now called his. With a deep breath, Ezio removed both, laying them on the ground, as well as his swords and weapons. He had already experienced one Apple of Eden. He did not need to see another.

“I have seen enough for one life.”

The Apple of Eden’s glow strengthened and shimmered the same way it had in the vaults of the church in Rome when he fought with the Pope. He had been a younger man then, curious of its knowledge, confused who the woman “Minerva” was speaking to. Now he had seen too much. Yet, it seemed his legacy, like Altaïr’s, was greater than he could have imagined.

“Desmond?” he called out. The room met him with silence, but Ezio continued. “I heard your name once before, Desmond, a long time ago. And now it lingers in my mind like an image from an old dream.” He turned around slowly, searching to see if this “Desmond” he knew in his heart he was speaking to would ever reveal himself. “I do not know where you are, or by what means you can hear me. But I know you are listening.” Ezio removed the rest of his weaponry and army. This was his legacy. Someone, far off in the distant future, perhaps centuries ahead, was listening in. He knew not why nor how, but knew the best way to share his knowledge was to show constraint. Altaïr had never stopped, only continued on with the Order in any way he could. He had seen far more than Ezio ever cared to see.

“I have lived my life the best I could, not knowing its purpose,” spoke Ezio, “but drawn forward like a moth to a distant moon.” He glanced down to the floor, chuckling softly. “And here, at last, I discover a strange truth: that I am only a conduit for a message that eludes my understanding.” He paused once more. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, the scar on his lip from his teenage years still present on his lips. As he and Altaïr had been able to communicate centuries apart, it seemed he had the same chance with this “Desmond”. As Altaïr’s legacy was to lead Ezio to the library and create new foundations of a strong Brotherhood, Ezio was to lead “Desmond” to his future.

“Who are we, who have been so blessed to share our stories like this?” he wondered with a smile. “To speak across centuries?” Ezio stared down at the Apple. “Maybe you will answer all the questions I have asked. Maybe you will be the one to make all this suffering worth something in the end.” A flash of gold caused Ezio to turn around. A man stood before him, face similar to Altaïr’s and his own. If he did not know any better, Ezio would have assumed this man  _ was _ Altaïr, or at least a version of him. His clothes were unfamiliar, yet his face bore such similarities to his own and to Altaïr’s in their youths that Ezio could not help but wonder how he knew the man. A man so young forced into a role forced upon him, just as it had been with Altaïr and himself. Ezio placed his hand on Desmond’s shoulder.

“Now, listen.”

Another flash of golden light illuminated the dusty library before it faded just as quickly as it appeared. The Apple’s glow and Desmond disappeared, leaving nothing but a dark, empty room. Ezio took one last look at Altaïr. “Our missions are finished,  _ fratello mio _ . Let us be at peace now.” He walked away from the empty library, putting out the torches he had lit and stepping back up the stairs. He would return to Sofia now and settle down after making arrangements with the Ottoman Assassins on a successor in leadership with Yusuf dead. He finally had the chance after so many years. He would return to Rome, choose a successor and retire. To the countryside, perhaps.

The two figures who entered the shrouded, mysterious land exited just as they came, wandering along the overgrown, pebbled trail. There were no more ghostly apparitions, no guides to keep the two safe, not even golden visions to accompany the ghost. No, Masyaf was truly empty now. The legacy of Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad was secured. His actions outlived his life. His soul had found its way to the top of Masyaf castle, overlooking the dunes of snow from the highest perch of the castle. Though Ezio did not turn around, he swore he could hear an eagle screech and whispers from beyond as the ghost of Masyaf faded into a leap of faith. No more golden visions to keep him company, no more whispers of the Ones Who Came Before. Just the quiet of the abandoned, ruined castle and the soft whisper of the wind as one final eagle feather swooped down into Ezio’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This is the first time I've ever actually published a fanfiction, so that's super exciting. Any comments, notes, suggestions, etc. are welcome! Once again, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


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